


good green earth

by floatingsumaru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Body Horror, Gore (Minor), M/M, Plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingsumaru/pseuds/floatingsumaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Oikawa is still a little magic drunk; the hangover is going to hit him hard later, and he can already feel regret coating his tongue, amber thick and over sweet.</p>
</blockquote><br/>Weirdo plant magic AU kinda body horror sweetheart thing. This probably needs some kind of tentacle and dubious content tag, too.
            </blockquote>





	good green earth

Oikawa wakes up naked with sore legs and an even more sore ass.

 

He’s still a little magic drunk; the hangover is going to hit him hard later, and he can already feel regret coating his tongue, amber thick and over sweet. But even with a monster headache looming, the leftover tendrils of green magic have him heady and languid, crawling across the curve of his ribs, prickling along the length of his half-hard cock. It’s intoxicating; it tastes like gold afternoon light soaking into summer warm skin, it feels like a face turned toward the sun. Oikawa takes a moment to wriggle a little deeper into the sheets twisted against his hips, soft choked sigh escaping at the the sweet touch of cotton fibres tingling with their memories of a past green life.

 

 _How strange_ , Oikawa thinks, there’s something in the sheets, they smell of rich deep earth, not the fresh green of spring and sap that always calls him home, and oh god, is this even _his_ bed, he realises, the slant of the light through the part in the dark purple bed curtains is at once unfamiliar, and wholly familiar. He spent the night in House Shiratorizawa, Oikawa groans inwardly as he spies the crest adorning the twist of white cord pulling back the fabric, _he spent the goddamn night in House Shiratorizawa in the bed of the goddamn prefect--_

 

Oikawa’s skin is burning, and he thinks it’s some kind of unfamiliar shame, shooting red hot along his spine and tingling in his fingers, but no, it’s much too hot where his legs are tangled in the sheets and he realises that he can taste too much loam in the air, and it floods his mouth like saliva.

 

 _It’s too much, why is there so much_ _,_ Oikawa thinks, mouth in a snarl as he tries to spit it out, but if he’s breathing, he’s breathing air so thick and humid it might as well be being buried alive in the dark earth under the green trees, and he’s panting, face pressed into the sheets that now smell of the ground after rain, and musk. The sheets are searing the skin from Oikawa’s bones as legs kick futilely, fingers clawing desperately without purchase against something slick and wet, and then they’re not sheets anymore but green, deep green, thick and strong, and the twinned branches that grow from the bed part his legs almost gently as one spears through the soft inside meat of his thigh.

 

Oikawa _screams_ , and he can taste dirt now, and maybe the iron of his blood as he bites through his cheek; the branch is working its way through his thigh with the slowness of a growing thing, and his nerves are stretched like a line of tension about to break against the arch of his back as his legs start to sprout young leaves, buds blossoming pretty and pale green in his veins, spilling their amber sap across the red blood that smears across the inside of his thighs where the branches are pulling him apart. But everything still feels like warm summer on his skin, like hands running smooth against his sides, like fingers spreading his legs, and as seeds root themselves in the space between his ribs, Oikawa arches into the branches that circle his hips, and comes with a pained moan, white streaking through the sap, droplets hanging suspended in the golden amber.

 

There’s dirt in Oikawa’s mouth; there’s dirt in his hair, and a single tendril of green vine that gently crowns him where he lies, spent.

 

 --

  

“Ushiwaka-chan, I thought you said you were clean.”

“I am.”

“But were you _magically_ clean.”

“There might have been an… excess.” 

“ _Ugh_.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY OIKAWA AYYY LMAO
> 
> (Remember protection when having sex and/or magic, kids.)


End file.
